


Reality Check

by a_taller_tale



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-17
Updated: 2017-07-17
Packaged: 2018-12-03 09:44:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11529666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_taller_tale/pseuds/a_taller_tale
Summary: A soldier in orange armor comes to Simmons' prison cell, but it doesn't sound like Grif.Written after episode 15, and before episode 16. RvB15 spoilers, but no FIRST spoilers.





	Reality Check

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the brilliant episode S15E15 where we were reunited with Grif, and [captainkonot's](http://captainkonot.tumblr.com/) idea that Grif might call Simmons ["Cinnamon"](http://captainkonot.tumblr.com/post/162931896548/g-o-d-this-is-so-sugar-sweet-ugh-but-also-how) when they met up again. It went off the rails to angst from there.

"Cinnamon!” 

Simmons snaps up out of his doze. The voice is familiar but it sounds _really_ off. Besides, it can’t be- 

“Grif?” Simmons could almost cry in relief seeing that stupid orange armor. “You got our message!” 

“Simmons! I’m here to get you out, buddy. - _Friend.”_ he corrects himself harshly, muttering. “How many times did we go over this? Just let me finish. Un momento.” 

“Uh, Grif, were you eating methshrooms again?” He sounds so _wrong_. Wait, the Blues and Reds have all those guys that look like them running around. Maybe this isn’t Grif. Or it’s Grif with two Fs or something stupid like that. 

The orange armored soldier, who he can’t be sure is Grif, opens a hip compartment that should have been for extra rounds, but Grif always kept snacks in. He takes out a key card, and with a happy beep the cell door pops right open. 

Simmons doesn’t move. “I’m not going anywhere with you until you take off your helmet.” 

“Listen, Simmons. I have something to say. To you. It’s really important so I need you to listen, are you listening? -Oh, right, helmet.” The soldier pulls his helmet off and sets it by his feet. It’s undeniably Grif, fidgeting like he can’t stand still. 

Temple definitely must have drugged their last meal. Simmons has to be hallucinating. Or someone drugged Grif. 

"You can’t interrupt, okay?” Grif says, getting in close so his face is almost pressed against Simmons’ helmet, eyes darting to different points like he’s trying to make eye contact through the visor. “I wanted to tell you, I’ve been trying to tell you, that I really really really really missed you.” 

Simmons freezes. “You- What?” 

“Oh- you let me say it all this time. While we’re on a roll, I missed you and I wanted to tell you I’m sorry. I sort of thought you were dead and I’d never see you again. Then Locus showed up and he could have been lying about the rescue- he’s like, a mass-murderer, but it was either hitch a ride with him or stay on the moon forever wondering if you were all dead and how you had died and if it would have made a difference if I came. He’s actually not that bad, Locus, he talks more than you guys were talking for a while there. The other yous." 

Simmons is more alarmed by the second and he should be thinking of escape, getting to where the others are, figuring out a plan to get Sarge back on their side, but all he can see is his friend and something is _so wrong with him._

Grif just keeps going. "-And I was thinking a lot- Can you take off your helmet? I know it’s not great to take off your helmet right now, but you asked me to, and I could get shot. I know Sarge doesn’t care. Maybe you don’t. Maybe they all _do_ hate me. I did yell at them. _Focus, Grif._ Start over-” 

“Grif,” Simmons interrupts, releasing his own helmet with no hesitation. At the sound of his voice Grif’s whole body tenses like he’s waiting for a hit. “Grif, are you-?” 

"Hungry? Stupid? Lazy?" 

" _No,”_ Simmons says. _“_ Are you _okay_?" Because it’s the only question he can ask. It’s the only thing that matters right now. 

Grif’s face crumples in a way Simmons has never seen before in all the years they’ve known each other. Not after they thought his sister was KIA, or after any of their battles, or when he left their room to smoke in the middle of the night. Maybe he just never let Simmons see it before. 

Grif moves into Simmons’ space again, a pleading creeping into his expression before he squeezes his eyes shut and presses his face into Simmons’ neck. 

Simmons almost stumbles back, but he takes the weight of Grif leaning on him, awkwardly wrapping his armored arms around his back. 

“...Are you really real?" Grif asks quietly. 

**Author's Note:**

> KC on tumblr did[this little comic](http://rvb-clusterfuck.tumblr.com/post/163773230066/lil-thing-based-on-grimmons-epilogue-to-s15e15-by) of the end of the fic. It's GORGEOUS.


End file.
